ZUCIYAR NAMIJI   Complete Document Written By Mujahida Matar Malam

Description

This time, I bring you news from the town of Sokoto, a small, modest house with slightly swollen, mud-covered walls caught my attention. The rusted door creaked as I entered, having to bend slightly to pass through.

As I entered, I observed a young woman engrossed in drawing what appeared to be a depiction of a bustling village market with various stalls, referred to as “Atamu” in the Hausa language. The rain had momentarily subdued her, but it showed no sign of abating.

Her youthful appearance, combined with long, white hair, seemed to belie a certain distress, evident in the occasional wiping away of tears from her cheeks.

“Hey, fans, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. Where is her husband or any of her relatives? How is she managing all of this on her own?” I muttered to myself.

Soon, a young man emerged, offering a helping hand to the young woman. He seemed to be in his thirties, with a striking dark complexion and a well-groomed beard.

Glancing around the room, I noticed that instead of a traditional ceiling, there was merely a cement sheet, giving the impression of an incomplete structure.

Upon his arrival, he sternly instructed, “Khairy, fetch the bathing water while I clean the bathroom.”

She replied in a cool tone, “Alright, I’ll work on drawing the wooden floor and the ceiling of the bathroom.”

He said nothing and settled on the side, making some calls on his phone.

Struggling to repair the bathroom wall, he exclaimed, “Why are you so sluggish, Khairy? Can’t you work faster? Do you want to be my wife or not?!” His voice laced with frustration.

The young woman, visibly trembling, pleaded, “Please, be patient. My work is not easy. I’ll build and rebuild the wall. Please, be patient.”

Muttering softly under her breath, she wiped away her tears as she moved to attend to the water, trying to control her emotions.

“Stop crying, you’re not a child. Come on, teacher, go check the water, I said!” he scolded.

Hastily, she filled the water and entered the bathroom, finishing her task diligently.

“That’s enough, enough of your endless complaints and laziness. You’re just like a troublemaker, only interested in money and food. You won’t give me a moment’s peace without them,” he grumbled, paying no heed to her words.

Kneeling on the floor, she wept, feeling worn down by the burdens of life, her disheveled hair resembling that of a neglected, impoverished woman. A sense of despair seemed to surround her, leaving her with little faith in herself. “Every man is the same… *THE HEART OF EVERY MAN IS*…” Her words trailed off, left unsaid.

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